


Alone

by soloproject



Series: Blood Red Summer [1]
Category: The Following
Genre: Alternate Canon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soloproject/pseuds/soloproject
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Mike who is hurt but Ryan who needs the comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Poem excerpted from Alone by Edgar Allan Poe.
> 
> Now a series, "Blood Red Summer" is the title of a Coheed and Cambria song. One of my fave bands:
> 
> _in a pain that buckles out your knees  
>  could you stop this if I plead (you got it, you got it, you got it)  
> so destined I am to walk among the dark  
> a child in keeping secrets from (will they know what I've done in the after)  
> in the sought for matter when the words blame you  
> in a blood red summer I'll give you (I don't want it, don't want it, don't want it)_

Mike sleeps for a long time. Ryan watches him through the glass while the doctors work on him and through the glass while machines beep rhythmically. Later, the nurses allow him to stay, even though they edge around him. Ryan pulls up a chair and stays the night. He’s too wired to rest and still, Mike sleeps.

Ryan’s fingers twitch while he watches and he wants a drink so badly, he almost leaves to find one. But instead he’s rooted to the chair, rubbing his face and drinking cup after cup of shitty hospital coffee. 

Other agents filter in and out and Ryan listens to them through a haze. His eyes never leave Mike, intent on watching him breathe.

In the middle of night, Mike mutters in his sleep and cries, sometimes. Ryan holds his hand while the nurses check on his vitals, make sure everything is ok and after they leave, he keeps on holding it.

When Mike sleeps, he looks young but Ryan always thought Mike has an old soul. He’s lived a long time but in many ways, Ryan knows he’s capable of stupid mistakes. He knows, deep down, when Joe smirks at him from across the table, the professor is looking at him the same way he’s looking at the bottom of a glass. 

He’s getting better at being a grown-up—Mike’s given him his second chance at redemption, another shot at the enigmatic professor. But Ryan also knows that shiny veneer, the intense fiery justice Mike’s come out of the Academy with is slowly becoming tarnished.

It’s mostly his fault and yet when things get dark, Mike’s there at his elbow, sometimes standing right in front of him. He’s not a soldier, not a good shot like Ryan is even after a few drinks. 

Mike is a shield, a protector. But he lies in the hospital, so obviously cracked and it breaks Ryan’s heart just a little bit more when he hears Mike mutter in his sleep, “I didn’t tell them.” 

Ryan’s just about dozed off when Mike’s eyes flutter open. Charlie had given it to him good right in the face, so he can’t open them all the way but there is a small twinkle when he recognizes Ryan at his bedside and the smile he can manage is devastating.

“Ryan?” Mike says, best as he can manage in his state.

“I’m here, buddy, I’m here.” Ryan says, instantly up and half on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I got my ass kicked.” Mike says, still smiling. “But I didn’t tell them.”

Ryan’s chest hurts but he smiles back, coiling his fingers around Mike’s better hand. “Yeah, buddy…you got beat.” There’s a lot more that needs saying, he knows, but he figures he should space it out. Mike’s so earnest sometimes and too smart, really. Ryan wants nothing more than to wrap him up and tell him he’s sorry and he’s screwed up and he should’ve been the grown up here. Mike is the best of all of them. 

“I’m so sorry, Mike,” Ryan murmurs just as Mike starts to fade again but he swears Mike’s fingers tighten around his even as it happens.

It takes a long time for Mike to recover.

Ryan is talked into going home and getting rest but he still comes every day. He drinks to fall asleep and shotguns energy drinks to wake up and Mike sleeps through it all.

Joe Carroll stays quiet; his Following is quiet but the missives come:

_From childhood's hour I have not been_  
 _As others were -- I have not seen_  
 _As others saw -- I could not bring_  
 _My passions from a common spring --_  
 _From the same source I have not taken_  
 _My sorrow -- I could not awaken_  
 _My heart to joy at the same tone --_  
 _And all I lov'd -- I lov'd alone –_

The words taunt Ryan and he crumples the first set of photocopies that Parker leaves on his desk systematically, as she watches with placid concern.

“Go home,” Parker insists. “Consider that an order.”

Ryan doesn’t take orders but he goes anyway.

\---

Ryan isn’t there when Mike finally wakes and then he’s caught in another case involving Carroll’s followers. This one is particularly disturbing. The victims are all young, 14-16 years old, redheaded and pale, from mostly immigrant families. There’s no sexual abuse, thank god, but they are laid out reverently on their beds completely drained of blood.

The trail goes cold so Ryan comes home and drinks a fifth of vodka in frustration until he passes out.

He wakes up to half a dozen missed calls and a text duly informing him that Mike’s checked himself out of the hospital. A twinge of guilt passes through his system but Ryan just grabs his car keys and runs a few red lights until he reaches Mike’s neat little flat.

Mike answers the door and for a second they just stare at each other. Mike’s favoring his left side and his face still looks like raw hamburger but he’s awake and alive and Ryan lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in forever.

“Hey,” Mike grins, big enough to break Ryan’s heart all over again.

Ryan nods and then gets right into Mike’s personal space, careful not to hurt him. He wraps his arms around Mike’s shoulders, fingers digging into the soft hair at his nape. He presses his eyes into Mike’s shoulder and weeps. 

“Hey…hey…it's ok,” Mike says, softly fading out.


End file.
